


Dad's Smiles

by PixieVenus



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Child Abuse, One Shot, Rated T for reference to murder death and all else FNAF's known for, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 20:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixieVenus/pseuds/PixieVenus
Summary: There are only three important smiles I remember from Dad.





	Dad's Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Rayne and Ente for reviewing and giving me feedback on this fic.  
> Playlist for this piece: https://goo.gl/mWGtfY

Age is a lost concept to me. My skin rotting away, bruised with purple, I can’t recognize my face or age. It always stung to wash my face but I’m used to it by now.  
I suppose I have one thing to thank that animatronic abomination for. I no longer see my father stare back through the mirror.  
Though some features are still found if I look hard enough. Grinning, the ends of my mouth still match.  
But, he rarely smiled. Something I follow in habit.  
Out of those rare occurrences, only three smiles were ever heartfelt or genuine.  
The first was when I was fairly young, maybe six or seven. The day I met my baby sister. Excitedly, I bounced next to mother’s hospital bed, and she gave me a tired laugh. Told me to stand still so she could let me hold our newest family member.  
“Her name is Elizabeth.”  
“She is so cute! I love her! I’m gonna be the best big brother ever!” I would end up breaking that promise eventually.  
That’s when I looked up at Dad, who patted my shoulder and gave me the biggest smile. I knew he loved Elizabeth. Well, maybe, if he was capable of love. He always wanted a little girl, just so he could spoil her and name her after his late grandmother.  
Never met her, but Dad loved his grandmother. Something about her being the nicest to him. Telling her son, his father, to “leave him alone.”  
I wouldn’t understand entirely what that meant to him until I was a little older. When mom dragged her bedridden self out to snap “Leave him alone!” at dad while clinging to her youngest son.  
He was an accident.  
It was cruel to call him that, but it was true. He was not Dad’s son. Again, I wouldn’t comprehend what that entailed until later in life.  
They divorced shortly after that, and mom took that crying child with her. That was Dad and mine’s nickname for him. We used it so often I can barely remember his real name. I’m sorry for that.  
Teenage me thought everything was my half brother’s fault; the separation, mom’s illness, her death, Elizabeth’s disappearance, Pizza World’s shut down.  
All of that happened after he was born.  
None of it was his fault, but that didn’t stop Dad and me from believing it was. At the time I felt bad for dad. He was so proud to be the manager of a sister location, but ended up being stuck repairing those same old, outdated, yellow animatronics.  
Resenting my brother for everything that went wrong in my life, I killed him.  
I would say it was an accident. Technically, it was. How was I supposed to know that golden bear had a bite force strong enough to crush a four year old’s head?  
The day of the incident, I went crying to dad about what I did. I sobbed, screaming I was afraid of going to jail. That I didn’t mean it. To please bring that child back, and I would be a better brother.  
This would be the second time dad gave me a good smile. However, this one felt more dire.  
“Michael, you’re the last of my children alive.” Placing a hand on my shoulder, he said that with what I now understand was a celebratory tone.  
“For you, I will fix this.”  
The next few months we spent back and forth in court. Where I lay alongside my friends, who I would never see again shortly after. After all, my brother wasn’t the only kid to die on the lot, and my sister was still missing from the failed location. The case was settled without us winning. That was fine, I knew it wasn’t their fault, but Fazbear’s reasons were “he stumbled and fell on Fredbear's teeth.”  
It was an excuse that always stayed with me, and one I wrote down when applying to a later location in 1992.  
Despite the lawsuit, Dad still worked for them and was transferred to another, newer pizzeria, only to be shut down a year later thanks to some horrific crimes.  
Crimes I would eventually solve. I came home from work one morning to Dad greeting me. Having a key to my apartment, it wasn’t unusual for a visit, but I wasn’t expecting him.  
“What’s up?” I asked, not expecting the concept of my baby sister being trapped in a robot to be announced.  
My first thoughts were, was she okay? No. Was she still alive? No. I let him explain that her spirit was in a mess, trapped inside the robot that killed her. After Fazbear’s second pizzeria failed, Dad got a second chance with Circus Baby’s Rental and Entertainment, using the same bots from Pizza World. Which as far as I knew was going great. Though, for the past few years, he’d seen an increase of intelligence in Baby that he just assumed was the work of a ghost, his baby girl, and that I needed to get her out and let her rest in peace finally. He didn’t have the entire story right, but I knew nothing at the time, so I believed him.  
I still had one question left for him. “But why did Circus Baby kill Elizabeth?”  
“Because I programmed it to.”  
Feeling a jolt in my body, the streams of warning signs, red flags, and clues raced in my head.  
It was him.  
What would I do? What could I do? If I ran to the cops, my father would only string a web of lies without hard evidence, and I would never be allowed inside Rental and Entertainment so easily to help my sister. He would tell the truth of what happened to my brother in 83. I would lose the last of my family, but could I even call a man like him family? Beginning to sweat, I tried to retain my composure so as not to alarm the monster—my father—in front of me.  
He took notice, only to give me the third heartfelt smile.  
Patting my shoulder, he began to take his leave, confirming my concerns with, “I’m glad you understand.”  
As soon as my front door shut, I bolted for my bathroom and proceeded to vomit.  
Throat burning from the stomach acid and spit, I laid against the toilet. I didn’t care about the germs I could encounter. They were mine anyway.  
I don’t remember how long I sat there, thinking of the past thirteen years, and every horrible crime my father could have, and did, commit. All the small jokes and details he would tell us that I never took literally. The morning I woke up, wobbling my way down stairs to catch sight of my father’s purple uniform stained with red. Barely conscious, I yawned out a questioned of what that was, or what happened.  
“Pizza sauce.” He smiled, no sincerity behind it. Late night making pizzas for a party the following day was dirty work. I believed him.  
All the clues were there, but I had never put it together until now. Feeling guilt ridden, I still had a promise to keep for my sister.  
That day was the last I saw of him.  
At least until last night.  
Interviewing his corpse stuck in a fursuit, I did my best to remain calm until the tape ended, rushing toward the door only to feel an enormous aura behind me. I turned just in time to be slammed against the steel door and held back a sharpened ulna aimed for my neck.  
Pretty sure the only reason I lived was because I gave a nervous smile, and he saw himself.  
The top of his new face opened to reveal his old. Resisting the urge to barf over the smell of thirty years of decay, the dead face of father grinned at me. Genuinely.  
“No way!” He giggled. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree huh?” What a horrible voice.  
“It’s good to see you too, Dad.” My voice cracked. If it was thirty years ago, he would have made a comment to speak up, to not whine when I talk, but he didn’t.  
Instead he let go and eerily did something attuned to a joyful spin. He was always quite the performer in the suit.  
“I knew answering this call was a good decision!”  
Turning his attention back toward me, he had a glow of realization in those dead eyes. “My baby girl! You did save her after all, right?”  
Well, I finally got confirmation that he never got that voicemail. I worked so hard to sound intimidating too.  
“I…” Last I saw her, I doubted that was really her. She and her animatronic friends slithered into the sewers.  
“Yeah, Dad, I did.” An obvious lie.  
He gave a relieved but distorted sigh. “I had my doubts, but I’m glad I never killed you!” Cheer in his voice, he moved in a way that got the top of that Bonnie skull over his ugly face. Finally.  
“Like father, like son, they always say!”  
Skipping the no-offense line, I spoke up. “I’m nothing like you, Dad.”  
“Sure you aren’t, Michael. I’m positive you got your looks, cunning, and blood thirst from your mother.”  
“Hey! Every single day I regret killing that cry baby—” my hands covered my mouth before I could realize my mistake. What was his name?  
“Oh, Michael! That’s rich! I remember those good times you and I had!” He put the hand he still had, though only bone remained, on my shoulder. “Teasing that crying child every other weekend. I’m surprised the courts even let us have him after that mother of yours passed! I’m sure they still regret that themselves. They could have stopped that bite. They could have stopped you.”  
Having enough of this guy, I let go of my mouth and pushed his rotting corpse away, shouting a “sod off!” before running for the door and sealing it.

Done washing up, I look to the mirror once more, and slip on a white bear mask. I still can’t be out in daylight so casually, but luckily all I have to do is walk down to the brand new Freddy Fazbear’s. And keep my post in that dark room.  
Until the sun sets, and a rebuilt Baby sits in front of me. Gaze staring right through me.  
“Oh, no.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, I hope you enjoyed this story. This was my first, 1st-person story. Decided on making it written in this style sense, in Sister Location, and Pizzeria Similar you're the one playing as Michael. You two are in this together.  
> This fic was inspired by several Entenart pieces and some of my own concepts after talking with her about theories and headcanons.  
> Links to said pieces:  
> http://entenart.tumblr.com/post/170474738348/moments-that-make-you-go-thinking-emoji-hmm  
> http://entenart.tumblr.com/post/169939237113/fine-family-fun  
> http://entenart.tumblr.com/post/169553289653/thinking-about-thatsweet-redemption  
> http://entenart.tumblr.com/post/168548066878/more-afton-doodles-like-to-think-the-kiddies  
> http://entenart.tumblr.com/post/165446910318/thanks-dad  
> http://entenart.tumblr.com/post/164568856368/read-the-twisted-ones-but-all-i-wanna-know-is-who


End file.
